


Asia, again

by Jeaven



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angsty Schmoop, Big Brother Dean, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s03e11 Mystery Spot, Gen, Hugs, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Suicide Attempt, and a lot of crying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-08-07 08:09:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7707418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jeaven/pseuds/Jeaven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Tuesday again and Sam can't take it anymore. When he tries to end it in the most final way possible, Dean is lost for answers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Asia, again

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning for suicide attempt, but no major character death (except for Dean of course)

**Asia, again**

It's Tuesday again and Sam can't take it anymore. He wakes up again, that song ringing in his ears, his eyes burning before they're even fully open.

Dean sings along to the radio, blissfully unaware of what's happening around him. He grins at Sam and tries to annoy him, but Sam simply doesn't care anymore.

He doesn't even try to get up this Tuesday morning. He feels empty, like he's got no energy left, and just wishes he could fast-forward the next few (hundred) Tuesdays.

Dean goes to the bathroom, brushes his teeth and Sam is waiting for something to happen, but it doesn't. Sam hates the long days. Those, in which it takes Dean hours and hours to die, long enough to spark the hope in Sam again.

Dean returns from his morning routine and frowns at Sam, who's still laying in bed and staring at the wall.

"Dude," Dean says, mostly confused. "You plannin' on getting up sometime today?"

Sam answers him honestly. "No." His mind seems to finally rub off on his body, because he feels like every bone is protesting against any form of movement.

"Are you okay?" Dean asks, bewildered.

Sam wants to laugh at that, but he doesn't. "Just go get us breakfast, Dean."

He doesn't need to look at his older brother to know that he rolls his eyes. "Do I look like a hostess to you?"

Sam shrugs and doesn't answer. Dean is probably suspicious now, but it doesn't matter, just like it doesn't matter what Sam does this Tuesday because Dean will die anyway. If Sam is lucky, he doesn't have to watch. But more often than not he has held his older brother while he took his final breaths. Sam thinks of the film Groundhog Day, and how the guy had to change first, before the endless cycle broke. He wonders if he has to change too and knows it could be a hundred more Tuesdays and Dean's death would still hurt.

Meanwhile Dean has given up trying to get more information out of an unresponsive Sam. "Okay, fine. I'm getting us breakfast. But when I'm back you're telling me what's gotten into you."

Sam can't muster up the energy to answer. Dean sighs, grabs his keys and leaves the room.

Sam doesn't move. He stares at the ceiling he knows every stain of.

He feels hollow. Like an empty shell that's being dragged through the mud again and again. For over a hundred days, Asia has marked a new day of Dean dying for Sam. At first he'd been angry and agitated to solve the case he'd gotten himself into. But now, seemingly an eternity later, he's simply done. He has lived this day in every possibility, has seen Dean die in every way there is in a small city like this.

Sam is done fighting. He has tried _everything_ , with no avail. And now, as he feels himself breaking, his spark of hope that always flames up when he sees Dean alive has left him standing in the darkness. He needs an _out, now_ because he can't do this another day.

And that's when his eyes find the weapon bag across the room.

Sam remembers Dean telling him years ago how he'd snapped out of the Dream the djinn had him trapped in, and he remembers countless stories on how people had woken up from dreams like this.

(Except this is not a dream, this is not a dream at all, he knows it's real, he can feel it.)

Sam uses the last amount of strength he has to stand up and stagger across the room.

His fingers close around the cold metal. It fits nicely into his hand, and Sam smiles.

Smiling feels weird now, but Sam can't help himself. He's going to get away from here. He can put the pain and the endless Tuesdays behind him. He can finally put an end to all of this.

He sets the muzzle of the pistol against his temple, closes his eyes and that's when Dean apparently realizes he's left his money at the hotel.

The door bursts open and Sam flinches violently as his eyes flow open.

Dean stares at him for a whole lot of ten seconds and neither of them move.

"Sam," he whispers at once and his voice is full of fear. "Sammy put the gun down."

But Sam presses his lips together and refuses, because Dean _doesn't understand_. He doesn't understand the pain Sam's been going through, he doesn't understand how Sam just can't take it anymore.

"Sammy please," Dean whispers desperately.

And it's hard, so damn hard to deny Dean something when he's talking like this. But Sam can't - won't - live another Tuesday.

"Get out," Sam answers Dean and his hands begin to shake. "You don't want to see this."

"Sammy, _no!_ " Dean raises his voice and that's probably justified but Sam winces anyways. "Whatever is going on in that giant head of yours, we can fix it."

Sam smirks coldly, because that's what he's been trying to do for over a hundred days now. He meets Dean's panicked eyes with his own that are filled with determination and roughness. Dean immediately shakes his head and reaches out for Sam, who immediately moves backwards.

"Sammy..." Dean's voice breaks and he has to try again. "Sammy, talk to me, please. Give me something, man."

"I can't," Sam murmured.

"Sam-"

"No!" Sam exclaims and his desperation finds its way into his words. "You don't understand, I can't, I _can't_ , not again. You... you wouldn't understand, its been almost six months and I'm done..."

He doesn't make sense anymore, even to himself. But then again, nothing makes sense anymore.

He notices that his whole body is shaking. His cheeks are wet; he'd been crying without really noticing.

"Hey," Dean whispers impossibly soft and careful. "Look at me, Sammy."

And Sam does. He's so tired he doesn't have it in him not to.

He doesn't like what he sees. Because Dean looks at him with worry and panic, but also love and unbelievable sadness. Sam doesn't want to see this.

"Whatever's happening to you, we will figure it out," Dean says gently and lays a hand on Sam's arm, lightly tugging the gun away from his head. "But you have to let me take care of you, little brother."

Sam almost chokes. Because this is even worse than seeing Dean die. This is false hope that will be gone when Asia plays the next time. But he doesn't have any strength left. His will is broken and Dean's eyes are begging him to let go of the weapon.

So Sam does. The gun clatters to the ground and he gives in to Dean's strong arms that are pulling him into a tight embrace. Sam feels Dean shaking a bit himself and can't blame him.

"What was that, Sam?" Dean asks as if he's afraid of the answer. Sam, tugged against Dean's chest, crying and shivering, says nothing. There is no point in explaining to Dean what is happening to him. He doesn't have any strength left to do so anyway.

Sam thanks all high heavens for the fact that Dean doesn't press. Instead he wraps one arm around Sam's chest and slowly starts to stroke Sam's hair with the other. Sam feels like he's five again, shielded from the world by the arms of his big brother. Sam's so carefully built wall crumbles, and suddenly he feels himself letting go. A sob wrenches its way out of his throat and his hand clings onto Dean's leather jacket.

"It's going to be okay, Sammy," Dean whispers into his ear and Sam only shakes his head because it isn't going to be okay until it is Wednesday.

"Yes it is," Dean insists and Sam hears he's speaking rather to himself than to Sam. "I'm here and I'm gonna take care of you, okay?"

Dean's voice is soothing, a steady stream of soft words and murmurs.

Only it isn't going to be okay. Sam is going to wake up and Dean is going to forget all of this. Sam will have to listen to his brother's jokes again and he will have to watch Dean die again.

Everything in him screams _I can't. I can't do this anymore!_ but here in his brothers arms Sam realizes he has to keep fighting. Has to keep looking for a way out of there.

Because Dean needs him.

Sam needs to save Dean. It means saving Dean's life at some point, but Sam knows he'll have to endure many more Tuesdays before that. He still thinks he can't do it - this place has him broken enough already - but now he sees that he has no choice but to keep waking up to save Dean.

Sam refuses to leave the hug for a long time.

It's his save haven, where he doesn't have to fight, where he is safe. It feels like the world is okay for a moment. But eventually, he has to let go of Dean.

He feels dizzy, like he just woke up from a dream. He doesn't feel ready to face another Tuesday. Alone, because Dean will be as oblivious as always. Dean dies while putting the gun back to the other weapons (somehow a bullet gets fired).

His body hasn't even hit he ground before Asia plays again.


End file.
